


Forgive Me, Father

by torrancing



Category: Angels & Demons (2009), Ewan McGregor - Fandom
Genre: Caning, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Reader is a virgin, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Spanking, hinted at vaguely, misuse of prayer and confessionals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrancing/pseuds/torrancing
Summary: You are plagued for weeks of nightmares - wet dreams - of having sex with a priest you hold in high respect and reagard. You confess these nightmares as sins and almost give in to temptation when you realize that priest on the other side of the confessional is none other than Father McKenna. You're a lost, innocent virgin in your twenties with too much trust to give to Father McKenna, and he uses it to his full avantage.
Relationships: Father Patrick McKenna/Reader, Father Patrick McKenna/You, Patrick McKenna/Reader, Patrick McKenna/You
Comments: 34
Kudos: 74





	Forgive Me, Father

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a /reader in a long, long while, and haven't openly posted one in even longer. Leave a comment, tell me what you think!! This is honestly just 5.5k of sexual tension and sacrilegious fucking. If anybody is interested, I may make this a little series where Father McKenna keeps you, the reader, as his mistress, all while being just oh-so-sexy about emotional manipulation, just so unaware that he's in love with you. _gasp_ How very scandalous.
> 
> twitter: goregeouswill  
> ko-fi: dumbheathen

You had visited the church two weeks in a row, confessing sins of the flesh by way of filthy and demeaning dreams, all including Father McKenna. They were intended to be as innocent as could be, true and honest confessions, things you genuinely had felt guilty about. You always confessed your sins, even “small” ones like the dreams; you were as devout as you could be for as long as you could remember. Until the priest on the other side of the lacey lattice separating the two gasped and shifted as silently as he could during the second visit, clearly affected by your shaking and nervous voice retelling what you’d experienced. You couldn’t believe how excited the prospect of Father McKenna having been the one to listen to your confession.

The third visit to the confessional booth was less than innocent. You knew it was wrong to hope for the subject of your sins to bear witness to you admitting them, but if you were going to be tempted, at least you’d already be in the right place to be forgiven. You stepped into the confessional and let the heavy, wine red curtain close behind you as you knelt, facing the thin layers of lace separating and obstructing the view into the other booth. You shifted nervously and clasped your hands together, doing a silent hail mary, wondering if you should leave and not play the games you’ve been tempted to play.

The opposite booth curtain slid open and someone took a step inside, taking their seat and clearing their throat.

“May God, whose love blesses us all, see and forgive your sins. Speak, child.”

You took a breath and hoped the familiarity in the man’s - the Father’s - voice was the one you’d hoped for.

“Forgive me, Father. It has been one week since my last confession, b-but I. I couldn’t go any longer. I’ve continued to have filthy, sinful dreams about. About...” You swallowed hard and grew quiet. The man leaned closer to the lattice.

“About what, my child? You must confess your sins for them to be forgiven,” You froze and nodded at the reminder, one that sounded urgent and exact in its familiarity. Father McKenna was to absolve you and hear your begs for forgiveness and attention.

“About myself and Father McKenna, Father. E-Every night. I wake up with my sheets soaked through, in a cold sweat, hungry for things I’ve never entertained, even in my most private thoughts. I’ve been. I’ve saved my body for God alone until I marry, Father, but these dreams are haunting me, making me feel like I’m too empty,” You explained, trying not to let your voice waver, but the breath on your whispers did nothing to convince the Priest that you were truly regretting your sins, “Help me, Father?”

Silence.

Or what masked itself as such.

You listened closely, could faintly hear the slightly labored breath on the other side, like control personified. It made you shiver.

“What takes place in these nightmares, child? These sins you’re plagued with of you and m- Father McKenna?” His voice was too smooth, too calm and quiet for him to have stuttered. He was collected, in control of himself.

You straightened your posture but kept your voice low, slowly building the courage, “I never claimed they were nightmares, Father. I need your help be- because I’ve grown to look forward to them. I’m disgusted by this lust that’s overcome me for such a kind and caring man. He’s not- He’s nothing like he is in my sleep, that man is rough, not kind. He’s not selfless, he takes and gives what he sees fit.” And you love it.

You heard a soft clearing of his throat and you continue.

“He always holds me down, brags about defiling me, tells me I’m dirty because I like it-”

“Was Father McKenna hurting you in these dreams?” He sounded confused, almost hurt at the imaginary accusation at something so-

“Only when I beg him to. S-Sometimes he uses his hands, but other. Other times he uses his teeth, Father. Is there something wrong with me?” You were struggling with yourself to stay calm now, wanting to give into disgusting urges you’d had for weeks now.

“N- No, there is nothing wrong with you, my child. Have you taken your own flesh?”

You shifted and shook your head, soon remembering he couldn’t see you.

“No! No, Father, never. I want to, badly, and I only hope the urge lessens with our Father’s forgiveness. I feel so dirty with this emptiness, I want God to fill it with his light.” You chewed your lip, almost convincing yourself that the almost silent shuddering of breath on the other side was imaginary. For Father McKenna’s sake, you wanted to. You weren’t just giving into your own temptation, you were tempting him as well. Guilt made second place to curiosity, though.

“Your strength will be rewarded if you keep it near, child. If you must, if you continue doubting yourself and struggling with this weakness, you may request a private meeting to pay penance when full attention can be given.”

You stared at the gaps in the lace, blinking. You’d never been offered a way to pay your penance in a private setting outside of confessional. Were you so far gone? Your eyes welled.

“Thank you, Father,” You mumbled.

You were instructed to do several Hail Mary’s, as you’d expected, but you didn’t feel less empty and came out of it feeling confused and ashamed of yourself. You sat in a pew for quite some time after, head knelt in prayer for further forgiveness, offering apologies for weakness you haven’t yet given into. You didn’t see Father McKenna exit the booth and duck out of the room.

-

A week comes and goes, every day seemingly worse than the last. You wondered if it was possible to be insatiable if one had never been sated before. You didn’t go to confessional, too ashamed to put yourself through that again. You doubted it was even him on the other side, just another nervous, judgemental priest.

You were affronted by your own agitation towards the priests that’d helped you through so many dilemmas of guilt and honesty through the years. The night you found yourself grinding your hips down on the seat of your kitchen chair after leaning forward to grab the salt for your late dinner was the night you couldn’t take the guilt of this any longer, couldn’t take the sensitivity and hoped that there was somebody willing to listen at the church, earnestly listen with no ulterior motives from you.

One cab ride later, you were on the church steps at one in the morning. Your legs were exhausted after work, but you climbed the steps and pushed on, entering the empty church. The chapel echoed as the doors closed behind you, and the solitude allowed you to fall to your knees in front of a wall of candles, some lit and some not. You lit one for yourself and clasped your hands, gasping a surprising sob out.

You felt a kind of freedom being alone, admitting what you’d done at dinner, admitting your motives behind your last confession, and earnestly begged for forgiveness. Amidst your upset, footsteps approached, and a hand touched your shoulder, jerking your gaze up to whoever it was.

Father McKenna.

“Are you okay, child? Come, I may have a bottle of water, help you calm down a little,” He offered, leading you to a hallway and subsequently, his office quarters. By his offer, you doubt he heard or understood your reasoning for being so upset, so you followed the promise of water. You felt a little better letting the pent up emotion out with the freedom you did, so it felt like you’d done the right thing, finally.

You took a seat and the small bottle he held out a moment later. He sat behind his desk and intertwined his fingers, sighing as you sipped at the water and dried your face. You finished the bottle and sat in silence for several long minutes before he spoke.

“Do you need an ear, Ms. Y/L/N?” Father McKenna asked politely, face set and calm. You shook your head.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Father-”

“If it’s about your recent afflictions, there’s no need for you to lie, child.” You shut your mouth and looked down at your hands.

“I’m sorry, Father. I was overwhelmed with the need to confess and thought the church was empty,” You explained, picking at your fingers as something to focus on.

“You didn’t confess this last week, and you never made a request for a private meeting, so I hoped this would cease in bothering you. Tell me, what overwhelmed you this morning, child?” He sat back, letting you know he was openly listening, but the question had you shaking your head. You were taken aback by his tracking of your confessions, but you pushed it aside when your guilt bubbled to the surface once more.

“It’s not appropriate, Father,” you had mumbled, glancing up at him before peering down at your lap again. Shame was a thin layer of sweat on your lower back.

“You had no problem confessing to me before, child. What, now that you can see me and can’t pretend, it’s suddenly wrong for you? It is not my job to judge you,” Father McKenna’s voice was just shy of affronted until he put the air of reassurance around his words again. You wanted to curl in on yourself, the reassurance doing nothing for the shame.

“I-I leaned forward at dinner and it felt. It felt good and I was weak and I- I kind of liked it and I only. I didn’t touch but I almost gave in, Father,” you explained as best as you could, still not looking up at him.

“You are fighting this awfully hard; most would have given in to these urges at this point, don’t you think, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“I- I don’t know about others, Father, but I’m trying my best. I don’t want to be weak,” it came as a whimper, only for Father McKenna to stand.

“Kneel, and give me ten Hail Mary’s.” He circled the desk and stood in front of you, moving the chair to the side when you stood, implying you needed to kneel where it once sat. You stared at him, swallowing and dropping to your knees as gracefully as you could.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…” You bowed your head, reciting the full prayer as many times as you’d been instructed to. After sitting in the position for long enough, the familiar warm feeling in your gut bloomed gently, making it impossible for you to not squirm.

A hand on the back of your neck, gentle but firm, and shoes at your side told you that Father McKenna had stepped forward, noticing your fidgeting.

“Try to stay still, child. Ten more.” He didn’t move his hand, keeping your gaze fixed. It made you want to choke, but you only nodded.

You began to recite the prayer again, a new set of ten. You lost count halfway through, distracted with trying not to roll your needy hips down against your own calf. You sat up on your knees, bringing them together tightly. At first, he wouldn’t allow you, but digressed to gripping your neck as you kneeled higher. You got through the set, shaking and taking a deep breath.

“Another.”

“Father, please, I can-”

“Ten Hail Mary’s, Y/N.” You gulped and stayed silent, trying to quell the shiver under your skin.

You began, stuttering intermittently, his hand burning like sin on the back of your neck. You paused your prayers.

“Father, could you take your hand off of me, please? I- I can’t concentrate,” you admitted, keeping your head bowed.

“Continue your prayer.”

“But-”

“Do you want to be forgiven, child? Or do you want to give in to this sin of temptation? I will not cater to your weakness; you must face things to find strength,” His words were bitter, not as caring as before.

You hesitated, stammering through the remaining prayers, squeezing your eyes closed. You felt like you were gonna faint.

It was silent for several minutes before he spoke.

“If you are going to refuse to let his spirit absolve you, what am I to do to help you? It seems you don’t wish to be saved, forgiven, child. You may leave.” The moment he excused you, he drew his hand away from you, and your eyes welled up. You didn’t move, save for your trembling.

“Well? I said you may leave.” Father McKenna found his seat and kept his eyes on your half-standing, half-kneeling form. You made no move.

“I- Father, I don’t trust myself alone. Help me purge this, please. Is there anything I can do to atone? A punishment to set me right?” You begged. You weren’t aware of how cheesy it sounded, of how ashamed Father McKenna should feel for the cold twitch down his spine at the lilt of your self-shame filled begs.

“When- When Sister Mabel thought we were in need of a punishment, she’d cane us, Father. I’d feel less empty, like God wanted me to be punished, that’s why he made me bad, a disgusting creation to learn my lesson, Father. Does that make sense?” You revealed, eyes still down, blinking tears out of your eyes.

“Do you question The Lord’s creation, child?” His eyes caught the shine of your pitiful tears. The mention of caning piqued his interest. Your tears sealed the deal. He had never been so tempted.

“N-No, Father. I question if I’m who he wanted me to be. I must not be, if I am so filled with the desire to sin.”

“To question your creation is to question the Lord himself. We are creatures of sin, and under his light we must fight the urges we have to stay pure,” he stood and rolled his sleeves up, something he’d never do to his robes before that night, “I assume you already know how to stand to receive such a punishment, child.” You looked up at him, not believing your ears, tears streaking pinkish cheeks. You nodded and brought yourself to your feet, knees sore from kneeling but you did your best to walk to the chair that’d been set aside, turning it and grabbing the arm handles. You gripped them and bent over, legs spreading anxiously. You deserved this, you told yourself, testing your grip on the cold wood.

You kept your gaze down, shifting back and forth on your feet. Father McKenna stepped around you slowly, as if regarding you, and as he opened a cabinet to retrieve what you assumed must be his cane, you could have sworn you heard a lock latch shut, but you kept your eyes down and squeezed closed.

“As you receive a strike, announce a sin to be absolved, followed with a giving of thanks to our merciful father.” His voice was dark and you felt a chill as your simple knee-length dress was lifted and folded over the small of your back, exposing your legs and underwear, “I’ll take care of you.”

White dress, white panties. Purity, thought Father McKenna. Not for long, not if he had anything to do with it.

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”

You hadn’t expected him to be gentle, but you hadn’t expected to almost be brought to your knees, either. You racked a sob and found your footing, lower back pushing into his hand.

“Having- Having inappropriate dreams about Father McKenna, th-thank you.” You stammered, trying to anticipate the next strike.

Just as you let your prepared breath out, you were struck again, heat pooling in your gut and your knees giving just a little before you straightened out.

“H-Hoping to hold confession with. with Father McKenna, giving into thoughts of lust. Thank you.”

You felt hesitation before the next strike, like the cane was raised for a moment before it swung down on you, connecting with the first red welp and causing you to stumble forward and grab at the chair to find your footing again. You gasped at the feeling shooting down your spine and sloshing in your stomach, the cold air hitting the growing wet spot in your underwear.

Another strike, harsher this time. You sobbed and had to swallow before speaking, in a watery voice, “Give- Giving in to a moment’s pleasure, thank yo-ou.”

You could feel a thumb slowly stroke over a dark red welt, burning into you one second and gone the next, any soothing that came from the action replaced with another strike, each one harsher than the last, apparently.

“Not. Not trusting Father McKenna to guide me away from,” you swallowed a sob, shaking down to your feet, “from sin. Thank you, Father.”

You couldn’t tell if you were bleeding, your ass feeling hot and cold like a wound, your underwear soaked through. You couldn’t even worry about it, didn’t have the energy to worry if he’d notice.

“Don’t thank me, child,” he scolded cooly, making you flinch. You only nodded in reply, trying to swallow the pain. Your knees were shaking constantly by then, your elbows bent in more.

He struck you again, silently having given you a moment to collect yourself. You whined and kept your hips lifted up, attempting to swallow your noises, fearful of a cry of pain actually coming out as one of pleasure instead. The pooling in your gut was hotter than hot and you didn’t want to face that truth, so you kept yourself tensed up.

“I-I don’t have anoth-er, Father,” you admitted, turning your head to glance back at him, earning another strike. Your knees half-buckled, one nearly slipping out from under you when you correct your posture. You stood, sure that you had no other sins to ask forgiveness for.

With that, you were met with a hand pushing and holding you down in the same position.

“You were doing so well, Ms. Y/L/N/. You have one left, you mustn’t think too hard,” Father McKenna had taken on a condescending tone and you wracked your brain.

You insisted again after a moment that there was nothing else and the next crack of the cane hit the tops of the backs of your thighs, bringing you to your knees and almost toppling the chair over with your descent. You cried out, an ambiguous cry taken in by scrutinizing ears, he can see right through you.

“So this,” he grabbed the back of your dress and dragged you up to your feet, bringing his fingers to the heat of the wet spot in your underwear, making you squirm forward and gasp, “is nothing? Is this not a sign of your temptation, even in punishment?”

You wanted to hide your face, hide your shame.

“I tried,” you sobbed, “I tried to ignore it, Father. I didn’t ask for this.”

It did little to convince him, that much you could see. But he knew. He knew you couldn’t control this, and the black snake around his heart pulsed and squirmed to your cries. He hadn’t planned on this going so deliciously, so perfectly. He would have guessed that the bottled water (feat. ecstasy, a new friend to Father McKenna, bought specially for the lamb that needed the choice taken away to give her the freedom of not feeling guilt. Oh, how far the man had fallen.) would have had to have sat in his miniature fridge for at least another week before you gave in to requesting a private meeting. But he was mistaken, perhaps he’d been wrong to doubt your virginity when you’d admitted it in confession.

“You are beyond even my help, child,” Father McKenna spoke solemnly, and just as expected, you dropped to your knees and stared up at him, grabbing his hands.

“Please- I don’t know what’s come over me, Father, I’m so sorry. Is there nothing?” He took his hands from yours and cupped your tear-streaked face.

“Ms. Y/L/N, the only help you can be given is that I cannot give to you, as a Priest, and you’d never forgive yourself,” He wiped tears away with his thumbs, watching your face follow his retreating hands.

“Please, Father, ple-ease,” you didn’t exactly know what you were begging for, but your voice was pitiful, breathy, “Father McKenna, please help me.” Hands found your face again and you pushed into them gently.

“The only thing that can help you is to give in then ask forgiveness, as you’re too weak a woman to fight it, aren’t you? If I sent you home, you’d lose your will immediately, give into temptation, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t know why you nodded, nor why you ignored the shame that followed. His voice was just so soft, so knowing, like there was no judgement. He saw right through you.

“I’ve- I’ve never felt like this, it’s never been something I can’t ignore, Father. How do I ignore this? Even pain is pleasure now. Father, what’s wrong with me?” You begged, whimpering when he helped you to uneasy feet. He smoothed your hair from your face, hushing you with only a movement.

“You were made to sin and be forgiven, child. As a human, that’s your curse,” He explained softly, but you were getting impatient. It bubbled with the warmth of arousal in your lower torso.

“And yours too?” You were met with silence and you squeezed his hands, your thighs squeezing together as well. A thumb over your bottom lip made your eyebrows furrow.

“Father?” You questioned, but you didn’t move. You were weak, and his touch brought you too many things to ignore.

“If I help you, child, you must tell no one. Understood?” Father McKenna spoke in an urgent whisper, and though you knew nobody else was around to hear it, you trusted him. You hadn’t trusted him before, and look where it got you? If you’d requested a meeting earlier, you wouldn’t be there right now, unsure of yourself, doubting yourself.

“Under- Understood, Father McKenna.” You expected him to instruct you where to sit, talk you through gratifying yourself, and while that was a surprising expectation as was, it was the most you could ever imagine, so being instructed to grab the desk and bend over instead couldn’t have been what you heard.

“E- Excuse me, Father?” You shifted on your feet, more nervous now, but you couldn’t help but be just the slightest bit excited. You must be possessed. Just weeks ago, your stomach would have sickly churned at the thought of giving that part of yourself to anybody that wasn’t a person you were to marry, if not already married.

“How else do you expect me to help you? If this was something you could rid yourself of, you wouldn’t be here, would you?” His care was tainted with barely-there condescension that made your ears burn in shame. The humiliation only added to- Was everything you experienced going to affect you this way?

You turned and grabbed the desk as instructed, bending at the hips and wanting to hide your face. You didn’t know you’d been drugged, influenced chemically into doing what you truly wanted, so you had no idea why you felt at all confident, excited at the prospect of losing your innocence by choice, and that alone was enough to let your inherent shame bubble to the surface. The stretch of the skin on your ass with the welts and spots of dried blood was enough to bring a whine to your throat.

You looked back, watching Father McKenna take the collar out of his robe and disrobe shortly after, the black fabric pooling at his feet, leaving him in boxers.

He was a fit man, a capable one with hair dusting his chest and down behind the waistband of the fabric. You turned away just after catching his eyes, face burning. The burning didn’t go away, only getting worse when your dress was pulled up once more, this time leaving you bare as the white garment covering your - well the source of your shame - was pulled down just over your ass, falling to the ground as you shifted anxiously.

“Your body reacts to pain like a practiced whore. Are you a practiced whore, Y/N?” A finger sliding through the slick, teasing into you before repeating, making your pull away at first before following it, hips pushing back.

“N- No, Father. I’ve. I saved my purity, Father,” you explained, thinking maybe he hadn’t been the Priest in your confession, but the snort he gave told you otherwise.

“You said that, of course. I thought it was an exaggeration, see,” He explained, not stalling but taking his time because he could. You shook your head, feeling his cock swipe through the slick, but not give what you need. You whined and shifted on your feet, hoping to get his attention. He squeezed your hip, keeping the movement steady as he teased you, “I thought there was no way you could be as pure as you made yourself out to be, but then I thought, only damaged goods try this hard.”

Your forehead knocked against the desk with a groan as he pushed into you, cutting any hopes for reply off, and more or less one thrust later he was sunk into you entirely, not stopping for the resistance that subtly came a few inches in, tearing off the proverbial band-aid and letting you squirm against him, getting used to the stretch, letting the pain subside. The smallest bit of blood gathered at the base of his cock where he was connected to you. A true sign of the purity you were sacrificing to temptation, to him.

Father McKenna huffed a noise behind you, stirring his hips like his patience was wearing thin, so you pulled yourself forward slightly and pushed back again, gasping at your own movement and the churn of heat it brought to your stomach despite the pain. He paused, soon thrusting his hips forward, testing the waters before doing it again, your whines and the dip of an arch in your back whispering that if you were in pain that you were in love with it, and who was he now to deny you that mercy?

His hips snapped forward, thrusting into you now with a deep closeness but still shallowly, like he was working up to it. It was all the same to you, well, it wasn’t, but with no mode of comparison, you were resigned to give into the feelings you’d long avoided and enjoy yourself for what it was worth.

You reached back and gripped the Father’s hip, nails digging in and urging him to never stop, “Fa-ather, I-” you swallowed your words, not remembering what you’d wanted to say, or if you’d wanted to say anything to begin with, devolving to choking out gasps and whiny moans of pleasure, the arch in your back getting deeper when he changed pace again, slowing down in favor of thrusting as hard, as deep as possible. He wasn’t one to not appreciate the finer things, and being the one to take your oh-so-valued innocence really would have to be one of the finest.

Both of your hands were on his hips now, your face resting against the cold wood of his desk, legs spread and standing on the balls of your feet to give you the height at that angle to take anything he’d give.

When thumbs dug into split open welts on your ass, you couldn’t help but stand and whine but do nothing to stop it. Father McKenna chuckled and dug his nails into the raised, hot strips of flesh, making you gasp. He pulled out of you and turned you to face him.

Your mascara had run and been ruined long before then, but you looked truly debauched. He summed that up to be the only reasoning that he kissed you, and you weren’t all the inexperienced, because you kissed back eagerly and with experience. He was impressed, and let the jealousy of not getting to ruin that as well pass, bringing his focus back to you.

“Lie down, Ms. Y/L/N,” He was kinder, soft spoken, than before, and his pupils were a little bigger. You marked it up to endorphins and did as he asked. Normally, you would have shyly done everything in your effort to cover yourself, at the very least partially, but you’d hit some kind of wind of confidence. (And only Father McKenna would be able to explain it to you, but alas, he never would.)

He watched you lie on your back, knees curled up as if you entertained the thought of hiding your shame again, but your legs fell open, knees still bent. He’d be hot around the collar if he’d have kept it on, but feeling his own pulse pick up was enough to bring him to his knees, pulling you by your hips up close to him.

You writhed gently, glancing down curiously and watching him push back into you again, slower than last time, but deeper too. You wrapped your leg over his hip and held his arms, rolling your hips up to meet his on the first several thrusts. You could feel your stomach getting incessantly tighter, sparking something inside you every time he moved his hips that way. You clenched around him, letting your head fall back. It earned you a groan into your collarbone, deep and sent directly down your spine, and the sinking of teeth into your shoulder.

“Come for me, child, let it go,” He urged, voice breathless and sweet.

You froze, both legs wrapping around Father McKenna and tensing, gasping and offering shuddering moans as your orgasm was wrung out of you. He only stared, thrusts barely there in his lost focus.

He could feel the flex and shudder of your muscles inside, and he worked his cock deep and quick, having been distracted by watching you come undone - for the first time ever, for him, coming on his cock, trusting him to ruin you. He wasn’t far behind, and he didn’t ask nor think about it as he buried himself inside you, filling you with his come. It was hot, like you could feel every twitch and how too warm it was inside you, and you almost felt sick at the thought of loving it.  
You clung to him, let him catch his breath lying against you. It was comforting, but the sudden shame washing over you, the feeling of this is wrong was overwhelming.

“I’m. I’m so sorry, Father McKenna,” your voice wavered, full of regret. He leaned back and looked down at you, eyebrows knitted together.

“Did I hurt you, child?”

“I should. I should leave, Father. I feel- This feels wrong, I shouldn’t have- I. I’m so sorry,” You couldn’t explain yourself fully and his apparent confusion only made it worse. Were you overreacting?

“Slow down, Y/N. Take a seat for me,” He instructed, smooth and knowing, and you trusted his tone, trusted him.

You didn’t watch him redress, and you avoided looking at your panties on the floor lest you get upset again. He took a seat and looked at you, a hand going through his own mussed hair.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, child,” he cleared his throat, “Look at me,” a pause, “You don’t. Your sins have been forgiven, and you feel better, now, don’t you?”

Father McKenna was the voice of reason, and you found comfort in his words even through your own self doubt.

“I just. I saved it for so long and- Is he not disappointed that I gave it- I let you- That it’s gone and I’m not even married?” You were disappointed in yourself. If you could be disappointed that you were less upset than it came across, or if you could be disappointed in yourself for not feeling fixed, for wanting more.

“Is he not disappointed that I enjoyed it, Father?”

“Are you disappointed for enjoying it?”

Silence. You looked down at your hands again.

“Between you and I, Y/N, you have no reason to be disappointed in yourself for allowing this, for wanting it. I would do it again, at great personal discipline, and I am not disappointed in either of us,” Father McKenna admitted, no longer needing to manipulate the situation to his liking. In all reality, he didn’t feel that he manipulated it more than just speeding it up, drugging you aside. He’d even considered convincing you to come back, but he doubted you’d need too much convincing at this point. He gives a gentle suggestion and you listen like a lost puppy.

It was kind of cute.

“Is it really so silly to have wanted to stay pure?” You sounded resigned.

“I think you were holding onto it for reasons aside from religion, and this may be good for you. But officially, I must say forgiveness is crucial. You’re allowed to forgive yourself,” He explained and you stared at him. He could see your pupils were a little uneven, and you were undoubtedly still high, and while he’d love nothing more than to explore that prospect, it was nearly five in the morning and he had an early service to take care of at six.

When you didn’t speak again, he stood up and figured it wouldn’t hurt to add another mixed signal to the pot, kissing the top of your head.

“You may use the shower in the quarters through that door if you would like to stay and get some sleep before you take a cab back home,” He offered, earning a quizzical look from you. You nodded hesitantly before standing and grabbing his hand.

You kissed him gently and looked away, sighing and nodding to yourself more than to him.

“Thank you, Father. For all of your help, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, child, I said I’d take care of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment!! It really helps me out!!
> 
> twitter: goregeouswill  
> ko-fi: dumbheathen


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